view of downtown. The sun was setting, and the city was drained of sound. They both made popping noises with their beer cans. “Look, Jeff, I probably ought to get going. You know, work and stuff.” “Yeah, totally. Get the hell out of here. You’re freaking me the hell out anyway.” On his way out of Jeff’s apartment Zak ducked into the bathroom, locked the door, shat in his friend’s shower, and rinsed it down the drain while spritzing it with freshly spit Listerine. Then — with his library card in one hand and his bike-lock key in the other — he carved intricate glyphs in the foul-smelling steam while silently mouthing the names of angels. III: OJID Ojid stumbled down the street in the predawn calm. He shivered; his clothes were soaked with fluids. Plumbing and wires dangled from the soft layer of fat between his breastbone and nipples. It was over, and he still walked. The street was an emptied eggshell. The wind scoured the city’s dead skin and blew it toward the horizon. Ojid limped passed the corner apothecary, Mr. Breen’s, where he used to shoplift ginger syrups and tar candy when he was younger. He held the old man up once too, with a bread knife, when he was a teenager. But he wore a mask back then, and he didn’t cause his victim pain. As a grown man, Ojid only went into Breen’s to pick up his mother’s medicines once a month. But old Breen always remembered him. “It’s the Kim boy,” he’d say, “come to rob me of my sweets once again.” The old pharmacist’s jests always embarrassed him, especially when the two of them were alone in his dingy shop, the bell on the door still tinkling faintly from Ojid’s entry. Breen would fix Ojid with a look the old man was apparently fond of, a grimace limned with hunger and fear and pity. But that was before, so long ago. With drops of fresh blood like red gems glittering behind him and the sun thrusting its ulcerous corona over the city’s jagged, cracked skyline ahead, Ojid squeezed his eyes shut and wished he could hear the old man’s voice again. IV: ANDY/ANDREW His glasses were thicker, his skin thinner. There was loose flesh dangling from his chin. His hair had grown long and white and was pulled back in a ponytail. He had, of all things, a fucking goatee. But the ritual had worked. There was no mistaking him. There was no mistaking me. The two of us ordered iced coffees and took seats at a table in the far corner of the shop. “How was your trip?” I asked blandly. “As well as can be expected,” he said. “I’m sorry about that. The trip, I mean. But I only had a small window of opportunity, and I had to take it.” He smiled. I wondered how many of those teeth were still real. “That’s quite all right, Andrew. May I call you Andrew?” “Well, I go by Andy, actually.” “Ha. Of course.” He squinted. “You’re, what, 30 right now?” “32.” “Yes, 32. Still Andy. It’s a boy’s name. Hold onto it as along as you can.” He chuckled with a wisdom I wished I felt. “It’s kind of strange, though, isn’t it, how our younger selves, in a way, give birth to our elder selves?” He sipped some coffee through his straw. I could almost feel it trickle down my own throat. We stared at the same spot on the table, absently folding our straw wrappers into tiny paper accordions. “So,” I said, trying to sound jovial, “time for the interrogation. Are you ready?” “Yes.” He stared at me. “That is, ‘yes’ is the answer to your first question. Liz is gone. Long gone.” My stomach dropped. “I know how you feel, Andy. Trust me. But it’s for the best. And it gets better after she leaves. Much better. Eventually, that is.” I swallowed. “Um, when? When does she … when do we break up?” “I don’t think I ought to tell you that. In any case, it’ll probably happen a lot sooner now that I’ve told you.” I glared at him. “Doesn’t everyone dream about this, Andy? ‘If I could only go back and tell my younger self what I know now?’ But it’s not so great when you’re on the receiving end, is it?” Andrew fidgeted in his chair for a second. Then he sniffed, got up, and ambled off toward the bathroom. His back was a bit bent. I made a mental note to start using better posture. “Sorry that took so long,” he said when he returned to the table a few minutes later. “I almost forgot what free running water was like.” The future. Right. Holy shit. “What’s it like?” I asked, trying not to sound too eager. “Thirty years from now, I mean. Who’s president?” “Some asshole. What does it matter?” “Good point. Okay, what about the war?” “The war? That’s a strange question. No one even calls it ‘the war’ anymore. It’s just … the world. The way things are. I don’t think there won’t be ‘the war’ ever again.” Barrel of laughs, this guy. “So let me get this straight: You have to pay for running water in the future?” “Sure. But don’t you have to do that now, anyway? It’s called a utility bill.” “Yeah, at home I do. But not at a damn coffee shop.” “Well, that’ll change. It’s no big deal. You just don’t use as much water, that’s all. You don’t use as much anything. Unless you’re rich, of course.” “There are still rich people, huh?” “Oh, yeah. Rich people. Reality TV. Global warming. Homophobes. Spaceships to the lunar colony twice a week.” “Jesus! Seriously?” He smirked. “No. Not seriously. We haven’t even made it to Mars yet. Too many problems down here, too much garbage and baggage to deal with. The future? Shit. We can’t afford the future.” “Yeah,” I said, kind of bummed. “I guess I know what you mean.” We tipped back our plastic cups in unison and crunched the remains of our ice cubes. “Andy! Andy, is that you?” A voice called from across the coffee shop. Fuck. It was Christie. Or Chrissie or Christine or whatever. A friend of Liz’s. Liz had so many friends, I could never keep track. I flashed a half-assed grin. “Hey, what’s up?” I nodded back at her. She finished at the register and walked over to our table with a big, whippedcreamy cup in her hand. “How have you been? How’s Liz? Hey, are you guys going to Eric’s barbecue this weekend?” I shrugged. “I don’t know. Probably not.” Then I thought for a second. “No, I mean, yes. Yes, we’re definitely going. We’ll definitely be there. Me and Liz. The two of us.” She nodded idiotically. “Oh, shit, I’m so rude.” She looked at Andrew and then back at me. Andrew, me. Andrew, me. Her eyes widened. “Is this your father?” 19
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